


Through The Veil of Time

by Bittodeath



Series: Haikyuu Halloweek 2018 [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Prohibition Era, Drunk Kuroo Tetsurou, Drunkenness, Excessive Drinking, First Meetings, Hangover, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Roaring Twenties, Sexual Tension, Slang, Smoking, Speakeasies, That does not go well, Time Travel, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-08 01:32:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16419884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bittodeath/pseuds/Bittodeath
Summary: On a night of drinking, Kuroo does the stupid thing and crosses the veil of time accidentally.[To be continued & finished on day 6's prompts. Archive warnings and tags to be updated.]





	1. Kuroo

Kuroo knew he shouldn’t have approached the green light. Who in their right mind come close to a suspicious green light that suddenly appeared on the wall of a suspicious back alley? Him, apparently. He probably wasn’t in his right mind. His gaze dropped to the bottle of cheap, disgusting whisky he’d been drinking directly from. Yeah, that would affect his mind. He would even have thought the green light to be an alcohol induced hallucination, if he hadn’t been literally sucked in said bright green light. _That_ was the creepiest part of all.

He wobbled as his feet hit solid ground once more, closed his eyes to stop the world from spinning, and when that proved useless, threw up directly on the ground. He heard a “eww” that informed him there were, in fact, people around him. He tried to wipe his mouth with clammy hands, feeling definitely worse for wear.

“Alright buddy?” a rough voice asked as two strong hands held him upright.  
“Do I look alright?” he rasped back, and the voice snorted.

He blinked again, his vision swimming as he took in his surroundings: there was a feeling of underground about the room, with absolutely no windows. There were tables, a bit of music and people chatting in clothes that were definitely not your usual wear.

“Oh god”, he moaned, “what did I step into?”

He probably lost consciousness after that, because he woke up gasping at the cold water dripping down his head and whole body. Someone had saw fit to shove him under a shower, and now he was drenched, hangovered, and in a foul mood. He spluttered indignantly as hands held him down until he flayed wildly to get out from the shower. There were snickers and he was handed a towel, which he used to wipe his face and finally open his eyes. The light was crude and made him squint his eyes, and he blinked several times before being able to see the man standing in front of him.

“Are you back?” the man asked, grinning widely.

Kuroo grunted in response, and the man’s booming laugh echoed, making his ears ring painfully.

“I’m Bokuto”, the man said, holding out a hand and, when Kuroo seized it, hauling him up to his feet. “Let’s get you clean clothes before you meet the boss. And maybe something for that nasty headache you probably have.”

Bokuto was tall, and wore a white shirt, its sleeves rolled up to above his elbows, the fabric snug against his broad torso. His slacks were held up by a pair of suspenders, and there was something definitely, and completely, foreign about him.

“Those are weird clothes, by the way”, Bokuto added, eyeing Kuroo’s black skinny jeans and glaring red hoodie. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

Kuroo gulped, his throat parched, but managed to get out a “you’re the one wearing weird clothes” that made Bokuto snort.

“Here”, Bokuto said, handing him a glass of water.

Kuroo finally noticed – and he wondered how he hadn’t before – the teen with fiery red hair standing behind him. He was dressed the same way, and wore a cap. His grin was perhaps even more blinding than his hair. Kuroo followed both of them to a room he couldn’t guess the purpose of, but grand. He was probably in some kind of palace, as mad as it sounded. You didn’t find this kind of room in your local apartment.

The teen laid out an outfit for him, that made him wonder where the hell he was, and who the fuck he was meeting. It was a tailcoat tuxedo of dark blue fabric, something he had _never_ worn. Still stumbling slightly over his own feet, he managed to change out of his drenched clothes, and wobbled once he was done.

“And now?”  
“Now you meet the boss”, Bokuto said. “He was curious as to who you were, how you came into his bar, and for what purpose, since you were already so obviously thrashed.”  
“Uh”, Kuroo replied, “that might be difficult to answer.”  
“Not my problem”, Bokuto retorted, shrugging. “Follow me.”

And Kuroo did – along large, carpeted corridors with suits of armour. Definitely a palace, then. Bokuto stopped in front of a double door, knocked, opened it and motioned Kuroo to get inside. Steeling himself for whatever he was going to find there, the young man stepped inside. The sucker-punch left him gasping for breath, his eyes wide: the man who was casually sitting on the edge of the wide mahogany desk had no right to be this sexy. He wasn’t tall, but broad-shouldered and with an impressive aura of power. He was wearing a royal blue waistcoat over white slacks and a white shirt, with a matching bow-tie. A white tail-coat was draped over a near-by chair. A signet ring glinted on his finger, his dark hair carefully slicked back and accentuating his strong jaw.

“I see our Sleeping Beauty has awakened… if the Sleeping Beauty was adept of drinking herself off”, the man said with a smirk. “Sit”, he added, motioning to a comfortable looking chair beside him.  
“I’m sorry for the inconvenience”, Kuroo said with a delay, finally catching up to the situation.  
“Sit”, the man said again, so Kuroo sat down and looked up to him.

He was even sexier from up-close, with dark, curious and warm eyes and chiselled features.

“Tell me exactly who you are and how you arrived in my bar yesterday evening.”  
“The name’s Tetsurou. Kuroo. And I have no fucking idea how I came into your bar. I was out drinking and”, he frowned, remembering the weird events of the day before, “there was a green light. I stepped through it.”

The man inhaled deeply, and made a “aaaaaah” as if suddenly everything made sense.

“The passageway”, he said. “I should have known, of course.” He pondered over something for a moment, and finally added: “You must be very confused right now. I know I was when I crossed.” He grinned, charming. “You are currently in my estate, in Florida. I am Daichi, last heir to the Sawamura family. And you, my dear friend, just crossed the veil of time.”

Kuroo stared at him, waiting for the inevitable “I’m joking, of course”, that was never coming. There was something logical to that explanation – the clothes, the places, how everything felt _weird_. There was also something extremely not logical about it, because you didn’t just _cross the veil of time_ , whatever that was supposed to mean.

“I really drank too much”, Kuroo replied instead.

Daichi grinned, opened his arms and let out an emphatic:

“Welcome to March 3rd, 1922!”


	2. Speakeasy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prohibition Era, anyone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 - I used lots of American slang from the 20s, but as English is not my native language, there may be mistakes and what-not. The slang was taken from a list I found, I hope it's still understandable.  
> 2 - Ooooh boy do I have Sugar Dadchi reminescence. Obviously I'm still NOT over it.  
> 3 - I had no idea the term "sugar daddy" came from the 20s.

Daichi let out a sigh of contentment, pushing his sunglasses up his nose. It was still cold, but through the veranda, the warmth of the sun was nice. The chaise longue he was laying on faced the sun, and he entertained thoughts for the upcoming spring. His bathrobe was slightly open, offering more skin to the rays, and he had a coffee next to him. There was shuffling to his left, were Kiyoko was laying.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come to Paris with me?” she asked for the third time.  
“Yes, darling, I’m sure”, he replied to his wife. “Go have fun with your friends and cake-eaters out there. You and I both know I’ll just be a hindrance.” He tempered his words with a smile, and she kissed his brow.  
“Well then”, Kiyoko replied, “I’m off. I have last minute baggage to prepare. See you in September, Daichi. Don’t take any wooden nickels while I’m away, would you?”  
“Never, you know me. See you, love.”

Kiyoko exited the room, leaving Daichi in the company of Kuroo. The young man had been there for two weeks, living at the estate, and was turning out to be as much of an egg as Daichi was. He was still miffed about the man who had welcomed him so warmly – and still a bit at a loss with all that twenties’ slang. Sometimes, it felt like people spoke an entirely different language. Kuroo hooked his finger over his sunglasses and stared at Daichi.

“Why don’t you go to Paris with your wife?”  
“Many see her as unapproachable if they know she’s married”, Daichi replied. “It’s a bother for both of us. I’d rather she goes to Paris and spends some good time with her lovers and friends, while I stay here and deal with my business.”

Kuroo seemed to be a bit dumbfounded. He licked his lips, and then said:

“Don’t you love her?”

Daichi stared back at him.

“She’s my friend. Marriage of convenience. For the eyes out there, I’m her daddy, but that’s all.”  
“She’s pretty though.”  
“Don’t be a goof”, Daichi huffed. “I know she’s a doll, I married her after all. Would be darb if I had any interest in skirts.”

There was a moment of silence, and Kuroo replied:

“I’m… not sure I understood what you said. The whole slang thing, ya know?”  
“I said I’m a fag”, Daichi answered, rolling his eyes. “Or are you uncultured as well as daft?”  
“No I got that right”, Kuroo retorted, though a bit curtly. He let out a sigh. “It’s just… _dépaysant_ , you know? Everything is different here.”  
Daichi let out a low chuckle.  
“Y’were just a dewdropper back in your time. Now you’re a dewdropper living the grand life. You’ll get used to the talk.”

Kuroo hummed. Daichi had explained, after they met for the first time, that he had crossed the veil of time too, when he was sixteen. He’d wound up in eighteenth century Scotland, on the land of a local laird who’d put him to work. That was were he’d learnt to brew a good whisky, and to fight with both his fists and his claymore. The portal through the veil had appeared to him again three years later, and he’d crossed it once more – back to his time. That had been seven years ago, in 1915. He had started a small business with his then-lover, a man’s whose name he refused to say. They’d both gone to war in 1917, but only one of them had returned. Bitter and angry, he’d thrown himself back into his work, and had started to deal with the local mob of Chicago. With a price on his head, he’d moved to Florida as the Prohibition started. That had been how he’d made a fortune: he’d become a bootlegger, and a ruddy good one at that. His whisky was reputed all across the States, as was his beer. In less than two years, he had more money than he could count. Kiyoko had become his wife in 1918, when he’d returned from war, to escape her parents’ arrangement. Kuroo could only guess that was when their friendship had truly bloomed – Daichi didn’t talk about that either.

From Daichi’s story, he knew that he would probably able to go home at some point – he just wondered, home to what? There was probably not even a home left to speak of. He wasn’t sure he really wanted to go home, if he was being honest.

“What got you all grummy?” Daichi asked, pushing him lightly. “C’mon, old boy. I know enough that it’s not ‘bout my being a fag. You wouldn’t look at me that way if it was.”  
“I was thinking that I’m not sure I want to go home”, Kuroo replied.  
“Then don’t”, Daichi retorted, waving his hand. “There’s no beef.” He nodded to the cigarette case next to Kuroo. “Butt me.”

Daichi made it sound so simple. Kuroo grabbed a cigarette and held it out to the man, who placed it between his lips. He then held out the lighter, his fingers trembling as they brushed against his chin.

“You know, that’s no good for your health”, Kuroo murmured.

Daichi blew the smoke to the ceiling and looked back at him with hooded eyes.

“Do I look like I care?”

Kuroo had to admit he didn’t. He looked… Kuroo gulped. His bathrobe had slid open even more, revealing a broad chest and strong muscles. Scars, too. He was graceful and sexier than Kuroo could handle.

“Take a bit of moonshine, baby”, Daichi said, putting down his cigarette to hand him a class of homebrewed whisky. “You look like you need it.”

Kuroo picked up the glass and let the alcohol burn down his throat. It was _good_ , and also stronger than your regular whisky. Not like anything you could find on the market in the twenty-first century. He opened his eyes, only to find Daichi’s face really close to his. He didn’t move as the man closed the distance, his open mouth taking advantage of Kuroo’s. He tasted like smoke and ash, and something bitter. He tasted like the desire creeping in Kuroo’s veins, the desire to burn everything down and dance in the ruins. He tasted like desperation, like something that was but shouldn’t have been. He tasted like the forbidden.

“Stay”, Daichi breathed against his lips. “Stay with me.”  
“I’m not going anywhere”, Kuroo replied.

The answering kiss was like molten fire in his veins, like his skin was crawling with pleasure and desire, and he wanted _more_. It probably wasn’t a wise decision, but he’d stopped making wise decisions a while ago. There was the clatter of broken glass when Kuroo’s drink fell to the ground, and the strong scent of alcohol. He didn’t know how – didn’t care how – but Daichi was hoovering over him, bearing down on him, strong and unyielding and terrible. He let out a moan at the soft lips attacking his throat, at the hands sliding his bathrobe open, at the feeling of skin over skin.

“Fuck me”, Kuroo gasped, holding onto the man who, in a mere two weeks, had become his everything.  
“That was my intention”, Daichi replied huskily.

The doors of the atrium banged open.

“Boss! The joint at the docks got attacked!”

Daichi jerked up, his eyes narrowing. Bokuto was standing in the doorway.

“Who?”  
“We’ve lost three of our men, boss”, Bokuto replied. “It was Suguru.”  
“He left a card, didn’t he?”

Bokuto nodded.

“The ace of spade, boss.”  
“That bastard”, Daichi said through gritted teeth. “I wish I could take him for a ride.” He straightened and tied up his bathrobe. “Alright. Do the bulls know?”

Bokuto shook his head.

“No, boss. We made sure of that.”  
“Attaboy! You take care of it, then. He’ll show up soon.” His gaze dropped down to Kuroo, still flushed but looking completely lost. His expression eased into a smile. “Get a wiggle on, baby. I’m not letting you off that easily.”  
“Uh. Shouldn’t you… take care of, I don’t know, dead people in your joint?” Kuroo asked, gulping. He had made the mistake of forgetting Daichi was a mob boss. He wouldn’t forget. Never again.  
“That’s what Bokuto’s for”, Daichi replied. “Suguru leaves a card wherever he goes. Each one has a meaning. The ace of spade means he’ll come here to negotiate something, today.”  
“Shouldn’t you get ready for that, then?”  
“And what do you think I’m doing? Listen up, baby. It was Suguru Kiyoko was supposed to marry, and he never got over the fact that she preferred a know-nothing to him. He got it really bad when he realized Kiyoko and I aren’t a real couple because I don’t care for skirts. So I’m gonna rub my happiness in his face, and you have a role to play.”  
“Oh God”, Kuroo breathed. “And what’s that supposed to be?”

Daichi’s smile turned shark-like.

“We’re going to look like the greatest eggs”, he answered. “I’m sure you look gorgeous when you’ve been fucked out of your mind”, he added in a low voice. “He’ll get so mad.”

Kuroo’s knees buckled at the suggestion. He was really about to do that, wasn’t he? He returned Daichi’s smirk.

“Count me in.”

*

Daichi was back in his chaise longue when Suguru strode in. Kuroo, however… Kuroo was still flushed and breathy from his earlier intense orgasm, and still straddling Daichi’s lap. So when he lifted his golden eyes from the man under him, he immediately met Suguru’s shocked and angered gaze. The thought of crafting everything just to anger him had made sex all the more intense, and he relished in the knowledge that _everything_ was perfect. The bathrobe halfway slid off his shoulders. The marks on his exposed skin. The golden and diamond jewels around his neck, his ears, his wrists and ankles. The expensive whisky next to them. His lips stretched into a mischievous grin, and he looked back at Daichi.

“We’ve got ourselves some company, daddy. Should I tell him to come over here?”

The indignant splutter that answered him almost made him burst into laughter. Only Daichi’s hand on his thigh, squeezing tight, prevented him from doing so. Oh, he was so loving it.

“I’ll handle it, bird”, was Daichi’s answer as they both moved so he could get up.

Suguru stared back at him, turned on his heels and walked away. And if he heard the booming laughter from the two goofs, well… He gritted his teeth and kept on walking.


End file.
